


better that we break

by sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)



Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [2]
Category: Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work
Genre: Break Up, Bros Being Supportive, College Life, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In a way, Infidelity, Kiersey College, M/M, Nate McNulty Can Choke, Original Character(s), POV OMC, This is a segue to the next fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke
Summary: Disclaimer, my friends: this is very much a sequel to previous fics in this series. It's also a segue into other parts of the series.In which: Nando finally figures out what's going on with his boyfriend back home. His teammates have his back.
Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397
Comments: 22
Kudos: 222
Collections: Kiersey College





	better that we break

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to previous fics with these characters! If you're curious, [this link](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/tagged/kiersey-college) will bring you to the page on my Tumblr where you can learn more about these OCs.  
> So what's this? It's the setup for a brief series, because I've gotten a good handful of asks on Tumblr plus comments on my last Nando fic that asked about what was going on with his boyfriend. I wanted to answer that question, but I figured why not have some fun and write it out instead of just telling you guys in a Tumblr post.  
> So what's going on with Nando and Nate? Well, here's where you'll find out. Much more to come.

_Nando's freshman year_ | _September 2018_

Nando has been at Kiersey College for over a month, and he’s decided that he loves this school to death, but he is _not_ cut out for this type of climate.

That’s not to say he’s going to do anything about it. Like, he’s a _hockey_ player. He should be okay dealing with the cold. But Arizona is home, and the rinks he skates in have always been nothing more than just more intense air conditioning to him, a temperature he only enters to play the sport he loves. In New Hampshire… it’s everywhere. The first few weeks of school were great, if a little humid, the New England summer lingering. Then the leaves started changing colors, and, okay, it was _beautiful_ — still is, they haven’t all fallen yet— but apparently the unfortunate thing about foliage is that it brings temperatures from Antarctica.

Like. Maybe he’s being a little dramatic. But he seriously needs to invest in a scarf or something.

Because it’s _really_ cold tonight. He gets out of Meelia around ten-thirty, high off the adrenaline of a huge win in their homecoming weekend game, ready to make his way back to the Haus and indulge himself in a good time, thank you very much. Ben is to his left and Remy to his right, and the rest of the team have gone mostly ahead of them, led by Teegs, who needed to _get back to the Beech ASAP to throw down those beats_ , in his words.

“Fuck this shit,” Nando whispers, and his words turn to condensated breath like the air wants to prove his point. “What is it, negative-thirty degrees out?”

Remy glances at his phone while Ben laughs at pain. When Remy looks up, he announces, “It’s one degree.”

“Dude, that’s _Celsius_ ,” Ben says. “It’s, like, probably forty.”

Remy does some switching on his weather app, then updates the report. “Translated to American, that’s thirty-five.”

Ben side-bumps him. “Canadian ass.”

Remy rolls his eyes. “You guys are stupid. The rest of the world uses Celsius.”

“Yeah, but you’re in America now, baby.” Ben lifts his face to the huge black sky and yells, “ _Americaaaa! Fuck yeah!_ ”

Remy shakes his head like _WTF is wrong with him_ , and honestly, Nando doesn’t know.

“Anyway,” Ben says, looking back to Nando, “you’re a little bitch. In Rhode Island—”

 _Bzzz. Bzzz._ Nando jumps at the feeling of his phone somewhere in his jacket, then feels around for where it is. “Someone’s calling me,” he announces, and when he finds his phone and sees the name on the screen his heart leaps.

“Uh-oh,” Ben chirps. “Simp alert.”

“Shut up.” Nando knows he’s blushing. It’s Nate. “You guys should probably go ahead of me.”

“You sure?” Remy asks. “We can wait.”

“Jesus Christ, Rem, you trying to cockblock or something?” Ben grabs Remy by the arm. “C’mon, let’s leave lover boy to his devices.”

Nando chuckles. His heart is pounding a little, looking at his ringing phone. It’s been a whole twenty-four hours since he even got a text from Nate, and as for a phone call… God, he can’t even remember. It’s been too long. He misses him. So much.

“Have fuuuuun,” Ben sings, and Remy, still being dragged behind him, says, “Bye, Nanny!”

“Bye, guys.” Nando waves, then— he can’t help it— turns right away and picks up the call. “Babe! Hi!”

There’s rustling on Nate’s end for a second, and then he hears his voice— but it’s far away, like he’s not speaking directly into the phone. He’s able to make out what sounds like the end of a sentence. “... yours or mine?”

“Huh?” He turns up the volume on his phone. A shiver runs through him— _wow_ , it’s so fucking _cold_ in this state, holy Jesus. He should tell Nate. That lucky asshole is still in the Arizona sun. “Nate? Can you repeat that? You’re kinda garbled.”

But there’s no response. There’s more rustling, and Nando wonders suddenly if he’s in his pocket. Has he been butt-dialed?

And then there’s another voice— an unfamiliar one.

“Yours,” it says. It’s a guy’s voice. “My roommate’s in tonight.”

“Cool,” Nate replies, and then more rustling. There’s a laugh from the unfamiliar voice.

Nando stills.

“Do you have stuff?” asks the other guy. “In your room.”

“Yeah,” Nate replies, and Nando feels sick all of a sudden.

Rustle. The other guy laughs again, and this time, Nate with him. “Well,” he says, “what are we waiting for?”

Nando feels _really_ sick all of a sudden.

He hangs up the call. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. His heart is going to pound out of his chest, and his stomach is— questionable. No, it’s bad.

He hears Nate’s laugh in his head.

Nando lunges off the sidewalk and throws up into a bush.

*

He does not hear from Nate for two entire days.

This is a new record. It’s complete radio silence, and he doesn’t even _read_ the texts Nando sends. Not even the last one, which just says, _Nate?_ , and goes unopened for six entire hours. The ones before it were a little more emotional and, okay, maybe desperate, like, _I’m sorry if I did something to upset you_ , and _Can you please just talk to me_ , and blah, blah, fucking blah— it all comes crashing down on Monday night.

Because on Monday night, walking out of the library after his freshman sem group project meeting, he pulls out his phone and there’s a text.

His stomach drops out.

_Nate: hey sebby,_

_hate to do this but no sense in stringing it out any further… i think it’s better if we break up, but we can still be friends! thanks for understanding_

Nando stares at his phone.

Blinks.

Rereads the message three times.

Nando has spent the past forty-eight hours starting the stages of grief. Most of it has been denial. Nate wasn’t talking about _that_ with the other guy; it wasn’t what it sounded like. They were working on homework. Or something. At ten-thirty on a Saturday night.

But now, reading this text, he feels the steady transition right into anger.

He presses Nate’s contact name, opens his profile, and goes straight for his mobile number.

It rings twice. And then there’s Nate. “Hello?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for _two days_ ,” Nando says, and he’s fully aware of how forceful his voice sound, but he is _past_ being the desperate boyfriend who’s just sad all the time because of being ignored. All the frustration of the past two months of shit communication comes to a boiling point at once. “And you break _radio silence_ and you send me _that_?”

“Uh.” Nate pauses. “I thought it was pretty clear.”

“What the fuck, Nate?” He’s shaking, but it’s more anger than the cold. And it _is_ cold. “Like, what—? A _text_ to break up with me? After all we’ve been through?”

“Sebby,” Nate replies, and _God_ , he fucking _hates_ when he calls him that, he feels twelve years old. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just couldn’t figure out how to say it—”

“You drunk-dialed me on Saturday,” he blurts, because might as well lay it all out, right? “You were with someone. I heard you.”

Nate goes silent.

Yeah. That’s what he fucking thought. “How long, Nate?” He paces in front of the library. “Like, how long? Were you planning on just hiding that from me forever?”

“Look— I’m sorry, alright?” Nate sounds defensive. “I was just— I was lonely—”

“Lonely?” Nando cries. “I’ve been _right here_ , the entire time! If you were lonely, why didn’t you, I dunno, like, _not_ leave me on read for twelve hours every day? I was always there for you—”

“You _aren’t_ right here,” Nate replies. “You’re a _long_ way from home, and that’s, like, that’s whatever, okay? But you could’ve just gone to Arizona, and you didn’t, and I was lonely, okay? Like, Jesus. I’m not the one who flew across the country to go to college.”

Something boils in Nando’s stomach, something hot and angry and _devastated_ , and he huffs out a breath that’s shakier than he wants it to be. He swallows the lump in his throat. He will _not_ cry. “Are you seriously blaming this on me?”

“I’m just saying,” Nate replies, which is a yes. “You, like— you _left_ , Sebby. And I—”

“You _cheated_ on me,” Nando spits, and it tastes awful to say that, “and you’re saying it’s my fault?”

“Look,” Nate says. “I think we both know that this relationship has been over for a long time, okay?”

“What?” He swallows again. _Don’t cry. Do not cry._ “I—” But he has no words, all of a sudden, because Nate might think that, but for him it hasn’t been over; for him it was _never_ over, he was glued to this, determined to make this work— and this phone call confirms every awful fear he’s been telling himself is ridiculous for the past month, that it was too much, that _he_ was too much, that— _God_ — “How could you even say that?”

“Because it has been.” Nate sounds so matter-of-fact, so nonchalant, so _unbothered_. Nando clenches his freezing hand around his phone so tight he wonders if he might break it. “We weren’t— this was never going to work out.”

Nando’s voice comes out _much_ more strained than he’d like it to. “Then why did you let me come here thinking we _were_ gonna work it out?”

“I don’t know,” Nate replies, and it sounds like _whatever_. “Things change.”

Nando is shaking, and now it’s not from the cold. He presses his sleeve into his welled-up eye to catch the tears before they spill over. He wishes, with every fiber of his being, that he could figure out some way to tell Nate how hurtful this is, how awful he feels, how much this is going to wreck him.

This is _Nate_ — his first kiss, his first everything, his high school sweetheart. He thought he was the one. He was _sure_ of it.

He didn’t even give himself room to imagine it all crumbling before his eyes like this.

“I don’t,” he says finally. “I don’t understand. I thought I knew you.”

“Well, you’ll understand eventually, I guess,” Nate replies. “Sorry it had to be like this.”

 _No, you’re not_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. He just wipes his eyes and bites back the sniffle he wants to let out. He will not let him hear him cry.

“And, like, there’s better stuff for me here,” Nate adds. “Better people. It’s— this is what’s best for me.”

Nando feels sick. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” he gets out, without his voice breaking. “And I’m sorry it took you this long to figure it out.” He takes a long breath, and it’s shaky and he feels unsteady on his feet and he _hates this_ , but he can’t take this, can’t take this conversation any longer, can’t take the thought of Nate being with someone else— so he hangs up.

And _then_ he cries.

*

When Ben gets back to the room, Nando isn’t there.

He knew he had a study session tonight, but he’s pretty sure it was at eight, and it’s now… uh, ten, so they must be studying hard or something. Ben hangs his jacket up on the end of his bed, kicks his shoes off, and pulls his hair out of its elastic.

It’s been a _day_. And, like, Ben knows he made the conscious decision to go jam with the music majors in the band room for, like, two hours after dinner, but no regrets. He puts his guitar down in the corner by the closet, where it lives between his sparse opportunities for free time.

Maybe he should be a music major. But actually, no. He wants to make money.

Whatever. The music majors are fun, few as they are.

He flops onto his down comforter and pulls out his phone. He doesn’t have any texts from Nando; last he heard from him was before dinner, actually, because they ate together with Remy before Nando left for his study sesh. Ben shrugs. He’ll turn up.

But then he notices— his backpack is here, and his phone is on his bedside table. His shower caddy is missing. _Oh._ He actually _is_ here.

It takes another fifteen minutes (of Ben scrolling through Instagram) for Nando to actually show up. When he comes through the door, in sweatpants and a random KMH t-shirt, Ben tosses his phone aside and shouts at the ceiling. “My _booooooy_ , what the fuck is up.”

Nando’s voice is small, strained, and distinctly _not-Nando_. “Hey, man.”

Ben squints at him, but he makes a direct beeline from the door to his bed, hanging his shower caddy up in its spot by the closet. He can’t get a good look at his face. “You okay?”

Nando takes a long breath, still facing away from him, and is quiet for a second more. Then he turns, sits down on his bed, and stares at his feet.

“Nate broke up with me.”

“Oh.” Ben sits straight up. “What? _Dude_. Just now?”

“About an hour ago.” Nando’s face contorts, and he huffs out a breath, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “ _No_. Fuck. I’m done crying. I need to be.”

“Nan, I’m so sorry, bro.” Ben wonders if he should go over to him. Sit next to him. For moral support. “Did he say why?”

“Yeah.” Nando lets off a bitter laugh. “He cheated.”

“ _What_ ?” In a second flat, Ben is ready to actually cut a bitch. Truth be told, he’s been ready to fight Nate since Nando started mentioning earlier this semester that he’d taken to ignoring him for entire days with no explanation or apology, because, like, who does that to their significant other? But now he’s _actually_ going to commit murder. No one hurts his friends like that. “Dude, I’ll fucking kill him. No cap.”

Nando laughs again and wipes his eyes. “I never thought he’d do something like that.”

“Nando. Bro.” Now Ben _does_ get up, and crosses over to his bed. He sits next to him and rubs his back. “That guy is a fucking _dick stick_ and you can do _so much_ better. Promise.”

“Thanks,” Nando mumbles, but all his usual positive energy is gone. He looks so _sad_.

Ben has to do something.

Something significant. Or at least more significant than comforting him while he’s on the verge of tears even though he was definitely crying in the shower for who knows how long. He checks the time. 10:02.

Luckily, the late-night campus cafe is open until two in the morning.

He knows just what to do.

*

Remy lives down the hall.

He’s down five doors and around a corner, room 125. The RA made them these door decorations for the fall, construction paper in red, yellow, and orange cut in the shape of leaves. Remy’s roommate, Francis, took his down awhile ago, but the orange leaf that says _Remy!_ is still up there.

Ben knocks three times. He’d feel bad, but he doesn’t. Francis is nocturnal— dude stays up drawing until, like, five in the morning, and Ben knows this because Remy has talked about it before.

Remy, on the other hand, is definitely _not_ awake. Ben knows this because the boy has a sleep schedule. He literally goes to bed at nine— when he can help it— like he’s eighty years old.

Francis opens the door. He’s wearing a beanie and has a pencil stuck behind his ear. Low key, he’s good-looking. Ben would be into his whole brooding artist vibe if Francis weren’t so painfully heterosexual, but, like, whatever. Other fish in the sea.

“Hey, man,” he says.

Francis gives this effortless cool-guy nod. “Hey,” he says, in his awful, beautiful French accent. “Want Remy?”

Ben flashes a grin. “Yeah, I’m here to awaken him from his beauty sleep.”

“Cool. Hold on a second.” Francis leaves the door open and walks to Remy’s bed. He nudges him. “Oi,” he says. “ _Rémy, réveille-toi. Ben est là._ ”

Apparently, Francis speaking French does things to him.

Ben needs to get laid.

“ _Euh_ .” Remy’s voice is sleep-laden. “ _Je suis endormi_.”

“Uh, _évidemment tu n’es pas_.” Ben watches Francis shake his shoulder. Remy lets off a groan.

“ _Que veut-il?_ ”

“Dude,” Ben cuts in, leaning against the doorway. “It’s Nando. We’re needed. As moral support.”

Remy’s voice is still _heavily_ accented in his half-asleep state, but he sits up in bed. “What happened?”

“He just got dumped.”

Francis winces. Remy rubs his eyes. He’s even in pajamas. Like, matching ones. What a ninety-year-old man.

“So… what are we doing about that?” Remy asks.

“We’re going out.”

“I _can’t_ go partying on a Monday, Ben—”

“No, stupid, out to get food. C’mon. We’re getting shakes and fries. I planned it all out in my head.”

Remy raises his eyebrows. “Does _he_ know we’re going out?”

“We’re forcing him,” Ben replies. “Because it’s what he needs right now. Or else he’ll cry and mope all night.”

Remy steps off his bed with a grunt, pulls his Kiersey Hockey sweatshirt over his head, and announces, “I’m going in my pajamas.”

“Dude, we all are.”

“Good.” Remy shakes off the sleep-haze. “And you’re buying.”

“Sure, dude. Whatever.”

Ben grins and reaches to retie his hair. Success.

It’s go time.

*

The Bluegrass Café is a hike up the tallest hill on campus, and it’s somehow crowded when they arrive just before eleven. Ben has no idea who goes to get food at eleven on a Monday, but then again, _they’re_ here, so, like.

Nando is definitely not his usual self, but he’s also not crying, which is a good sign. Unintentionally— or maybe very intentionally— he and Remy wind up flanking him as they wait in line. The line is long, almost out the door, so Ben provides the entertainment by showing Nando memes on his phone until the worker calls, “Next!” and it means them.

“I’m buying,” Ben announces, pulling his student ID out of his pocket, and Remy shrugs.

“Sounds good to me,” Remy remarks.

“Wait, Rho, are you sure?” Nando fumbles through the pockets of his joggers, clearly fishing for his wallet. “I can pay for my own.”

“Nan, we both know you’re running out of meal money,” Ben replies. “And yes, I’m sure. Now get out of my way.”

Nando doesn’t protest— it doesn’t look like he has the energy to. Ben saunters up to the counter, flashes a grin at the cute girl working behind it, and orders flawlessly. One larger order of fries with extra pepper, plus three milkshakes from the ice cream counter— coffee for himself, chocolate salted caramel for Nando, and vanilla for the boring-ass Remy.

“You know what this reminds me of?” he asks, when their order is ready and he has the blessed milkshake in-hand.

Remy cocks his head, sliding into the booth next to Nando, across from him. “This as in…?”

“This.” Ben shakes his milkshake cup. “The shake. It tastes like coffee milk.”

Nando sighs a little. “Oh, God, not a _gain_.”

“Rem,” Ben continues, ignoring this protest and leaning back in his seat. There’s eighties pop playing in the cafe, and he feels a little like he’s in the “Take On Me” music video. “Did you know that coffee milk is the state drink of Rhode Island?”

Remy groans like he’s just fallen for a cheap April Fools joke. “Dude, does it ever get old?”

“Hey, _rude_!” Ben leans across the table and swipes a fry from the tub that sits at its center. It’s still hot and oily, and it’s fucking delicious, honestly. “You don’t see me insulting your aggressive French-Canadianness.”

Remy raises his eyebrows. “What about me asking if it ever gets old is equivalent to me insulting your heritage?”

“Because I’m loud and proud, baby.” Ben flicks his straw wrapper at him. “Long live RI.”

Remy flips him off. Ben glances to Nando, who’s stirring his shake absently with his straw. He has his face resting in one hand, and while he doesn’t look on the verge of tears, he looks _hella fucking bummed_.

“Look,” Ben says, speaking a bit more gently, “Nan, I was thinking. Speaking of Rhode Island.”

Nando lifts his eyes to him like he’s anticipating another dumb joke.

“I could send the mob on him,” Ben offers. “Like, you know, the Rhode Island mob? My uncle Reno has _mad_ connections.”

Nando mumbles, “Jesus Christ.”

“No, dude, I’m serious!” He leans across the table. “They could just pay ol’ Nathan McFuckface a visit. Quick and painless. He wouldn’t even know it was happening.”

Remy shakes his head. “No, bad idea,” he says. “We want him to feel pain.”

“Hm, I like the way you think, Rem.” Ben twists the one strand of hair loose from his bun around his pointer finger. “Okay, well, maybe we can put him through some intricate torture rituals. Before we off him.”

Remy nods, rubbing his hands together. “Now we’re in business.”

Nando raises his eyebrows. “Should I be concerned that you guys are plotting murder?”

“Dude, he _sucks_ , bro,” Ben replies. “He’s a little bitch boy. I’ll literally kill him for you.”

“You’ll go to jail.”

“Worth it.” Ben takes a huge sip of his shake, swallows, and gets a brain freeze. “ _Fuck_. Hold on. I’m dying.” He presses his face down to the table. “Jesus Christ.”

“That table is probably dirty,” Remy remarks.

“You don’t understand.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m literally fucking dying.”

“You’re dramatic,” Nando says.

“Man, fuck you guys.” Ben lifts his head, shakes it out, and finger-guns to shoot each of them across the table. “I’ll send the Rhode Island mob on _you_.”

Remy rolls his eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

Nando sighs into his hand.

Ben watches him for a second.

There’s got to be a way to cheer him up. He’s never _really_ been in the spot Nando’s in right now— he dated in high school, but never anything as serious as it sounds like Nando’s relationship was. And he’s also never been cheated on. That must fucking _suck_.

But there has to be _something_.

“Okay,” he says, treading carefully. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Nando murmurs, in the same small voice, the voice that’s not his own.

“Like…” Ben hunts for a topic for a second, scanning the cafe like it’ll give him ideas. A poster on the wall by the door with a pumpkin on it, advertising some kind of contest for the campus activities board, catches his eye, so he settles on, “Halloween. What are we doing for it?”

Remy eats literally four fries at once, like a heathen. “Isn’t Teegs throwing a party?”

“I sure fucking hope so.” Ben pauses. “Because if I have to go find a party at the senior apartments on Halloween, I have a nasty feeling they won’t let me in.”

Remy laughs. “They’ll kick freshmen out.”

“But what are we being?” Ben adds. “For Halloween.”

“Guys,” Nando blurts, “what are we doing here?”

Ben pauses, meeting his eyes. Nando looks from him to Remy and then back to him, and then he groans and shakes his head, pressing his face into one hand again. “Fuck, _sorry_ , I’m sorry. I know why we’re here. I sounded like a dick and I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I just— like, I mean— it’s Monday night. Don’t you guys have stuff to do besides, like, drop everything for me?”

“No.” Remy says, at the same time as Ben shakes his head. “No way, dude. You’re having a shit night and we’re here for you.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Ben adds, piggybacking off of Remy (occasionally they actually collaborate efficiently). “We’re your _friends_ , bro. And your teammates. What else would we be doing?”

“This is more important,” Remy says, and Nando’s eyes smile a little, but his mouth doesn’t.

“Well, thank you,” he says finally, eyes still on his shake. “I, uh. I owe you guys.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Ben says. “We’re here for you.”

Nando raises his eyebrows a little. “That’s cheesy.”

“I don’t care. It’s true.” Ben lifts his shake ceremoniously. “Now. Who wants to bet if I can down this entire thing without dying of a brain freeze?”

Nando squints. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because I live life on the _edge_.” He grins wildly. “Now watch and learn, bitches.”

*

Some time later, once they’ve polished off the fries and shakes, and lingered in the booth for at least thirty minutes after the fact, they walk back to the dorm in an overtired, bleary-eyed cluster. Ben is at least partially satisfied with the remedial effects of this outing, as Nando has mellowed out into neutral-bummed, and he can definitely work with that.

This process will take time, he knows. But he’s going to be there for his best friend.

“Hey,” he says, bumping his elbow against Nando’s side as they walk across the dark of campus. “I was serious about the mob thing.”

In the streetlamp lighting of the sidewalk, he sees Nando crack just the _tiniest_ smile. “Honestly?” he murmurs. “I might have to take you up on that.”

Ben laughs at the sky. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about.”

They walk in a row of three. Ben knows, somehow, somewhere deep in his chest, that he’s going to be inseparable from these two until their graduation day.

And they have four entire years before that happens.

He loves college.

“We're here,” he tells Nando, patting his back for emphasis, and Nando smiles.

“Thanks, Rho.”

He’s going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey, [come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! And feel free to ask me anything about these characters. I love them dearly. Thanks for indulging me!


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